


Discombobulated

by Spillingvelvet



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Food, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spillingvelvet/pseuds/Spillingvelvet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when Tony thinks he's got it all figured out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wait, What?

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the delightful Shannon. SPOILERS FOR ALL MOVIE COMPONENTS UP TO AND INCLUDING THE AVENGERS.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gets: in trouble, confused, and taken out to dinner. But he still has to pay.

It started one night after he had about ...six too many whiskies. 

Okay, so it actually started earlier that day, when he and Steve Rogers had a roaring fight in front of everyone on the helicarrier bridge. As far as Tony could recall, it was about following orders in combat and something else about disrespect that Tony didn't pay much attention to because Cap's face got redder and redder the calmer he tried to stay and that was just _hilarious_. 

Tony was in the right, _obviously_ , because he already _said_ he didn't play well with others so why was it a _surprise_ that he didn't always fly in formation. Sure, he could concede, maybe, that to a person in leadership, it was frustrating for the big gun to run off and do its own thing the moment it saw something huge and shiny causing trouble. Yet Tony maintained that he was untamable as the wildebeest. 

Rogers maintained that he was just an asshole.

So, Tony may have said a few ... _unkind_ things about Captain America's character. Mistakes were made all around, alright? Tony was willing to admit that there's a line that you probably shouldn't cross when calling people names for amusement. Eventually. Once Rogers stormed off. And everyone looked at him like he'd broken the Cap's favorite toy.

And that night, after the whiskies (and some tequila), Tony found himself outside The Ginger Man attempting to play keep away with Happy's car keys and a random patron who looked equal parts terrified and exhilarated to be involved. The bartender, while unfamiliar to Tony, had somehow known exactly who to call, or maybe Happy did it when Tony wasn't looking (he probably had a panic button for that matter) but that wasn't the point, the _point_ was that as soon as Pepper stepped out of a taxi and cleared her throat behind him, Tony knew he was in T-R-O-U-B-L-E. So he ducked his head and tossed the fob to Happy in a smooth arc.

"Geez, big guy, try to stay professional here."

Of course, Tony hadn't been able to bullshit Pepper since her second week on the job. She gave him a look that would set lesser men on fire and without missing a beat, put on her best "I handled this man's ridiculous affairs for a living and I can handle anything" smile and strode into the restaurant.

Tony waited until Pepper was busy smoothing things over with the management, before turning back to Happy and muttering under his breath. "Don't throw me under the bus, I'll give you a hundred dollars."

Happy snorted, and opened the back door for Tony to get in.

"Four hundred." Tony tried. 

Happy smiled mischievously and took the restaurant's glass out of Tony's hand.

"Twelve hundred, that's my final offer."

Happy held out his other hand and Tony looked at it. "What, right now?"

"What's right now?" Pepper asked, stepping out from behind Happy like a goddamn ninja. Her tone was one that, to other people, probably sounded light and airy, but made Tony break out into a cold sweat.

"Tony's giving me twelve hundred doll--" Happy said.

"ZZ!" Tony cut in. "I think he's starting a collection." At Pepper's look he placed a hand over his heart in sincerity. "Hey, I don't judge what a grown man does in the privacy of his mother's basement." He waited her out, trying for blase and carefree while she stood there staring at him before he deflated into his seat, pulling the door closed after himself. "Whatever, you guys suck."

And that's the real story of how Tony couldn't go out by himself in New York for a month. 

***

The next day, Pepper was drinking espresso out of an outrageously small cup and reading a newspaper at her desk when Tony slouched in and poured himself into a chair, pillowing his face on a box of tissues.

"Do you know how embarrassing it is for the CEO of Stark Industries to play babysitter?" she started right in, without looking up or offering Tony his own toy cup of coffee. The smell was heavenly, like caramel and bitter chocolate. Maybe she wouldn't notice if he stole hers.

"Happy was babysitting. You were just..." he trailed off and flopped his hand in the air, letting it land on her desk inches away from her cup, "breaking up the party."

"Are you barefoot?" she asked.

Tony sat up long enough to examine his own feet for a few moments. "Hey, would you look at that," he muttered and slumped back over the desk, spider-walking his fingers closer to his prey. Pepper moved the cup and saucer to the other side of her keyboard. "Can't get anything past you." Dammit.

Pepper was silent, and Tony huddled against the waves of disappointment crashing over the top of his head for a whole minute before girding his loins and sitting up, ready to face the music. 

Pepper sipped her coffee.

"Alright, give it to me straight, how deep am I in and what is it going to take?"

"It's pretty bad-"

"Bad like, Venice bad? Or bad like that time in Des Moines, which you may recall was not entirely-" 

"You are taking- you are TAKING," she continued over his interruptions, "Phil and me to Fig and Olive for his birthday on--"

"Thursday!" Tony snapped his fingers. She had set up twelve reminders over the last two weeks on his calendar. "Wednesday? Saturday." So, he hadn't actually read any of the reminders. Like anyone was surprised about that.

Pepper squinted at him, but continued, "Thursday." Tony did a fist pump. "You are bringing tasteful flowers and a meaningful present. You will be charming to everyone we encounter."

"Easy. Done. That wasn't so... " Tony said dismissively and then realized his rookie mistake when he spied Pepper's pitying look. "...bad and you're not done, are you?"

"You may not bring a date." 

"Oh, come on!" It was a blatant misuse of power on her part. Tony had half a mind to make a formal complaint with... well, he supposed the only person who would care is himself and- fine. Okay. So no one could save him.

"You will attend the board meeting for me the following morning so I can stay in bed with Phil --" she raised her voice to shout over Tony's frantic LA LA LAs "-- in the Plaza presidential suite you're paying for. Oh! And you are attending a charity function in LA on Saturday, but Happy will have the weekend off, so you'll have to drive yourself and stay sober."

"Why does he get a _weekend_ off? And why can't I just use a car service instead?" Tony whined, more for the sake of it than because of any real objection.

Pepper looked at him critically. "Because." 

"Will that be all, Ms Potts?" Tony grumbled and stood, making fists with his toes in the carpet. 

"You're paying for a new chair." Tony glanced back to where he had been sitting and shrugged at the grease stains on the arms. "Go take a shower, you smell like whisky and hydraulic fluid."

"Yeah I do." Tony's mood shifted into self-satisfied and he sauntered back out the door, calling out people's names as he passed. "Jim, diggin' the tie. Hilda, there better be scotch in that mug, I'm not paying you to be a good example."

***

Thursday came without incident. Well, okay, Tony _kind of_ blew up one of the labs on Wednesday, but that was Bruce's fault, even if he wasn't actually there at the time or technically had anything to do with the experiment in question. It was just easier to blame the big stuff on Bruce, no one questioned it, and he didn't seem to mind.

Happy sent a text at 8pm saying, _Cowboy up, boss_ , and Tony could feel the implied "Or else Pepper is going to rip your arms off."

He cracked his neck and gathered up his gifts, having decided that a bouquet of light pink ranunculus wrapped in green tissue paper and a bottle of Glenlivet 1938 would be suitably penitent. Coulson was a nice guy after all, and Pepper smiled a lot around him. Besides, chances were Coulson would keep the whisky in his office which meant at least Tony could get a decent drink at SHIELD headquarters. Once he ran out of his own stash, anyway.

Tony checked his reflection in the elevator doors, straightening his lapels and making sure the flowers hadn't started shedding on his arm. 

"What do you think, Jarvis, the black on black working for me?" 

"Indeed sir, terribly contrite."

"Run a debug on the Mach 7 while I'm gone."

"Sir. Approximate time until completion is one hour."

"That's my man." Tony checked his teeth.

The elevator dinged his arrival in the parking garage and he strolled out toward Happy and the waiting Maybach. 

"What's wrong with the Fisker?" Tony asked, thrusting the whisky at Happy who opened the rear door with a dopey smirk.

"Precious cargo, sir."

Tony clicked his tongue at Happy's apparent betrayal and ducked inside, ready to put the flowers on the other seat only to end up shoving them in the face of Captain goddamn America.

"Uh, thanks, you shouldn't have." Rogers laughed.

Tony's head whipped around, taking in his surroundings. Steve Rogers, in his car, his _private personal armored car_ , was wearing deep blue jeans, a crisp white shirt, and an ice-blue tie; dressed for going out somewhere nice, but unpretentious, down to his sensible leather shoes. 

Tony half-smiled at him suspiciously and grabbed the flowers back. "Sorry, Cap, wrong cab," he muttered. His hand was on the door handle, ready to jump out and double-check that there was only one Maybach idling in the garage, but Happy started forward. "This is kidnapping!" Tony shouted to the front, and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket instead, firing off a text.

_\- I thought you said "no date"._

_\- Technically, Steve's bringing you._

Steve? They were on first names now? 

"So..." Rogers said and cleared his throat. Tony knew it was only a matter of time before they discussed how horrible Tony had been to him over the last few days.

"Are we doing this now?" Tony whined.

Steve addressed the window. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry I called you an asshole. I don't really think you are one." 

Tony wasn't expecting an apology, since he was the one that usually had to do all the apologizing. _Pepper._ It was an interesting change of pace. He decided to roll with it. He could be magnanimous. Magnanimous was easy, right?

"Well, I suppose I'm sorry that I called you a..." maybe not so easy, once Tony's brain caught up with what his mouth was doing.

"Sanctimonious." Steve prompted. 

"- sanctimonious prick. Twice." Ugh, who let him ever open his mouth. From then on all his apologies would be prescreened by Pepper.

Steve shifted in his seat, angling to face Tony. "Twice?" 

"Uh, not -- you might have been imaginary for the second one. Never mind! Not important. We should probably get along tonight," Tony said. "For Phil." Look at that, he could even be gracious.

"For Phil," Steve agreed slowly, and offered his hand to shake. Firm, steady grip. Tony fought down an unwelcome surge of annoyance. Gracious.

"Okay, good, excellent, you get to hold these." Tony hefted the flowers back across the console between them and fiddled with his phone.

"They smell nice," Steve said. "Are they roses?"

Tony glanced up, mouth quirking at the sight of Steve's face buried in the bouquet. "Buttercups. I heard they're Coulson's favorite." 

Steve settled the flowers on his lap with a goofy smile. "Well, I'm sure he'll love them."

"Say, Cap, you're looking pretty sharp tonight. Is Ralph Lauren government issue now?" He was allowed to rib the guy a little bit, right?

Steve laughed self-deprecatingly and looked down at himself. He stroked his hand down his tie. "Thanks. Pepper took me shopping for my birthday."

Tony's stomach plunged downward. "When was your birthday! We should have had a party or something. Or, like, cake and ice cream. You like ice cream still, right? Being frozen didn't put you off the cold treats?"

Steve shook his head. "No no, I love ice cream. My birthday was on the Fourth of July."

Tony dropped his hands, which were up until then gesticulating wildly, to his lap. "You're shitting me." It was August already, and nobody mentioned a thing to him. Not to mention the Army had a twisted sense of humor.

"Nope, I was Momma's little firecracker." Steve grinned. 

"But what about a party! We could have thrown you a rager. Fireworks, the whole deal!" Tony did not understand the concept of low-key birthdays. It was another year alive, that should involve loud music, skimpy clothing, and so much alcohol. 

Steve shrugged. "There was a little get-together, it wasn't a big deal." 

Oh.

Tony would have responded, at least he wanted ask who had been there, but his phone kept buzzing in his hand.

_\- Is he having fun?  
\- Are you being nice?  
\- Don't call him a prick again._

All from Pepper.

_\- Seriously, Tony._

"Jesus." Tony turned his phone off with a vicious jab of his thumb, slipped it into his breast pocket, and took a deep breath. Be good, be good. He was going to be good if it killed him. 

"Everything okay?" Steve asked, tapping at his iPhone. Wait, what?

"Where did you get this?" Tony yanked it out of Steve's hand. On the screen was a brightly-saturated close-up of one of the flowers, the pale pink blown nearly white against the dark tissue paper. "Are you using _Instagram_?!"

"I like the filters," Steve said with a shrug, apparently unashamed to have besmirched the house of Stark with his iOS wandering eye.

Tony clicked his tongue at the technological treachery from his team mate -- and after they'd just declared a truce! -- and scrolled through the apps Steve had downloaded and organized into folders. 

"How many games do you have on here?" Tony counted four folders, which seemed to be catalogued by game style. 

"A bunch. I get bored with them pretty fast," Steve said, leaning over to casually watch Tony invade his personal business. Tony stared at the side of his head, bemused. "Ooh, that one's fun."

Tony tore his eyes from Steve's stupid perfect ear to look back at where he was pointing and found himself clicking his tongue again. "Of course it's fun, it's _Tetris._ "

"Here," Steve said and took the phone back. He brought up the camera app and leaned in closer. "Smile!" he said and Tony had no time to think about it before his annoyance was gone and he tucked a giggle away, looking at the camera and projecting, " _How is this my life?_ "

***

They arrived at the restaurant and found Pepper and Phil seated in the back, enjoying cocktails. Pepper was laughing at something Phil said while he sipped his drink, his arm slung casually around her shoulders. They looked happy, easy together, and Tony was oddly relieved. 

He smacked Steve in the chest to bring his attention back from taking a picture of a wall display of rows and rows of artisanal olive oil.

"Come on, Captain American Apparel."

Steve made a face. "I don't like their billboards." 

Tony rolled his eyes and crossed the room. Pepper spotted them coming and her face lit up. She was clearly on her second drink, or perhaps just giddy in general. 

Phil set his glass down and stood, shaking Steve's hand with a quiet "Captain."

"Steve, Phil, it's your birthday." 

Tony shook his head and made his way around the table to kiss Pepper on the cheek and steal a sip of her martini. She didn't even slap his hand away.

"Did you bring him a present?" Pepper asked through her teeth.

"Sure I did, his name is Captain America." Tony flashed his winningest smile and slinked over to catch Phil in a firm handshake while he still had arms.

"Happy Birthday, Agent," Tony kissed him on the cheek for good measure and handed over the bottle of whisky.

Phil took in the label on the bottle and his eyebrows climbed his forehead in recognition.

"This is _incredibly_ generous," he said, his voice thick.

"You deserve it," Tony waved a flippant hand and took a seat across from Pepper, who was smiling approvingly. He presented the bouquet of flowers to her with a flourish. 

"Smile!" Steve crooned, capturing the moment with his phone. 

"Now get one of Phil and me," Pepper said and tucked herself into Phil's side, smiling serenely for the camera.

"Beautiful," Steve said and set his phone on the table. "What are you guys drinking?"

"Martini," Pepper slid her glass forward and Steve took a sip.

"Mmm, that's nice, which olive?"

"Nicoise."

"It's got an interesting bitterness, but I think I like the arbequina we tried a few weeks ago more."

Tony watched the conversation, fascinated and horrified at the same time. Steve and Pepper went drinking together? Steve was allowed to try her drinks? That was Tony's thing. They had definitely just had a three-way martini kiss with Pepper.

"What about you, Phil?" Steve had his phone in hand again, taking a photo of the deep red cocktail Phil slid toward him. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all." Coulson shook his head. "It's the Julep." Oh dear god, did he cocktail kiss _everyone_?!

Steve made a pleased noise as he took a sip and nodded. "There's a lot going on in there. It's really understated. Complicated, but not showy."

Phil beamed, he beamed, for christ's sake, and took his drink back.

"Wait a second -- are you guys all _friends_?" Tony slapped his hand on the table in ...mostly mock indignation.

"Steve is my cupcake buddy," Pepper informed him, flashing a dazzling smile at Steve, who returned it with gusto. Phil wasn't even bothered! His girlfriend was making cupcake time with another man, and Phil looked happy about it!

Tony looked around for a waiter, or maybe a fire alarm and an emergency exit, and was greeted by a smiling woman in a green shirt and white apron who appeared at his elbow.

"Would you like to start your evening with a cocktail?" she asked. 

" _Yes_ ," he said emphatically.

She produced a cocktail list and held it out for Tony to take. He looked at it for a moment and sucked in a breath to explain again, _Jesus_ , and why did people just wave stuff around at him all the time anyway?

"I think you'd really like the Il Grande," Steve piped up, leaning over Tony's shoulder for the second time that evening and taking the list smoothly. 

Tony turned his head and stared at Steve's other stupid perfect ear. 

"That, or the El Matador." What the fresh hell.

"Are you a regular here, Champ?" Tony asked.

Steve shrugged. "I've been a few times to the Fifth Avenue one, but I really like it here." Steve looked at Tony happily. Christ, when that guy was determined to have a pleasant evening, he was charming as hell. Tony almost couldn't believe they'd been growling and snapping at each other only three days before. 

"The Il Grande has cinnamon! And tequila!" Nice-Steve cajoled.

Tony turned to the waitress and shrugged in a careless way. "Why not?" 

She smiled, and Tony could see her recognition dawning. "And for you, sir?"

"A Summer in Provence, please." Steve flashed a bright smile, and the waitress blushed and ducked her head. Typical.

***

They chatted amiably about what they were ordering, and Steve took several pictures of the empty wine glasses on the table.

Tony looked around, trying to figure out if he had shifted into some kind of strange alternate dimension where Steve Rogers was a charming cocktail connoisseur and secret pals with his closest friend. 

"Seriously," Tony snapped, unable to take it any longer. "When did you guys become besties?"

"Steve wanted to visit Magnolia and I was available," Pepper said absently, looking through Steve's pictures. "Ooh, was this the other night with Natasha?" She moved the screen so Phil, suddenly interested, could see.

Tony would have taken him to Magnolia. Steve never said he wanted cupcakes, dammit, Tony would have provided the hell out of some cupcakes.

Wait.

"The other night with who?!" Tony's hearing caught up with his internal freakout, but the other three were too absorbed in Steve's story of an evening with Natasha freaking Romanoff and how they obliterated a bar in Queens. _Queens_.

"She said it was a quiet night," Phil offered wryly.

Steve tipped his head in deference. "Well, compared to our day jobs, I guess it was no big deal."

Pepper gasped and turned the phone around for everyone to see, her face disturbing and gleeful. "Look at this guy's face!" The photo was of an obviously wasted man mugging for the camera with two buddies, blood oozing out of his nose and from between his teeth.

"Oh yeah. Jim." Steve said grimly. "In fairness to Natasha, he was already pretty messed up before we got there." 

Pepper giggled and kept scrolling. "What was Bruce making here?" _What?!_

She turned the phone so Steve could see. In the picture, Bruce was standing barefoot in front of Steve's stove with a dish towel over his shoulder, stirring a skillet filled with red bubbling goo. 

"Uh... I think that night was red paneer," Steve said, his face screwed up, remembering. Did that mean Bruce cooked for Steve other nights? Did that mean they were cooking bros? Bruce never cooked for Tony. Sure, he devised complicated algorithms and produced piles of data on the radiological signatures of various isotopes, but you couldn't _eat_ those. Or at least you shouldn't. 

"You brought that in the next day, right?" Coulson said and leaned in for a closer look at the photos. "It was very good."

A lesser man would have lost his shit and stormed out of the restaurant -- but not Tony. Oh no, he was going to be the bigger person and keep his cool. He was going to be _good_ , dammit. He was too busy, anyway, for teammate lunch potlucks.

It took maybe two minutes of a spectacular pout before Pepper noticed and gave him an apologetic look.

"Tony, are your worlds colliding?" she asked.

He made strangling motions in the air in front of him. "First you take my company--"

"You gave it to me."

"Then you steal my secret Agent--"

"Well, technically he stole me." 

Tony rolled his eyes at her syrupy tone and the sly look she and Phil shared.

"And now you steal my--" Tony trailed off, waving his hand ineffectually at Steve, who was calmly watching the exchange and sipping his drink.

"What. Cupcake buddy?" Pepper's eyes had gone shrewd and warning bells were going off in Tony's head.

"My teammate." he finished lamely with a sideways glance at Steve. Steve met his gaze evenly, and Tony could feel a subtle challenge.

And then Pepper went for the door Tony had basically left swinging open in the breeze with a neon sign flashing over top: _I AM EMOTIONALLY INVESTED LIKE YOU ALWAYS KNEW WOULD HAPPEN, PLEASE COME IN AND MESS AROUND WITH MY FEELINGS._

"I wasn't under the impression you were particularly close." 

So that stung, which unnerved Tony, which meant the chances of him acting like a fool for the following twenty minutes skyrocketed. He may not have been great at explaining to other people why he did the things he did, but that had never been because he was without self-awareness. He had metacognition falling out of his butt. Sure, sometimes it came with reflection after he acted on impulse. Nobody was perfect.

"Hey, whoa, we are totally buds!" Tony slung his arm around Steve's neck. "See? Bros."

Steve didn't even flinch, he was so goddamn easy-going. "Oh, yes. Those flowers were actually for me, but I didn't want to make it awkward," he said and wrapped his thumb and forefinger around Tony's wrist, punctuating his words with a gentle squeeze. His hand was really warm.

Pepper responded by taking a picture, her eyes dancing mischievously.

Tony snapped his fingers with his free hand and released Steve. "Give me that!" 

***

After a few minutes, the waitress returned again with a platter of three types of crostini. Steve's eyes lit up and he sat forward in his chair, taking a photo of the plate. Jesus, what was with him and the camera?

They were given little plates, but no one used them, preferring to simply pick up the little toasts from the platter and hold each one until they were finished. Pepper smiled around her bite, and Steve made tiny happy noises while he chewed. Tony and Phil wore matching scowls of approval.

"Yes," Tony said, going in for his second and final bite.

Steve nodded. "Right?" 

"Totally." Phil said.

Pepper shook her head and went in for another, Tony hot on her... hands. 

"I should really eat more." Tony said through his mouthful. He ignored the 'DUH' look Pepper gave him.

"We should get those raviolis," Steve said, licking his thumb clean in what Tony found to be a disturbing manner. Distracting? _Disturbing._

"Yes!" Pepper pointed across the table, clearly on her way to drunk and happy. She and Steve high-fived and Tony shared an amused look with Phil, who half-rolled his eyes and smoothed his hand across Pepper's back.

Steve nudged Tony's shoulder and smiled, offering his glass for Tony to try. "You are so weird," Tony informed him, but took a sip anyway. As the alcohol slid across his tongue, Tony realized that he was almost certainly on a double date.

It didn't freak him out as much as it should have.

*** 

They did get the raviolis, and then a whole kitchens worth of other dishes that they shared freely amongst each other, offering bites and spoonfuls in between sips of wine. Steve took pictures of everything and polished off what the others couldn't eat. Once the plates were clean and the wine stopped flowing, they all settled back in their seats moaning and clutching their stomachs.

"Would you like coffee or dessert?" The waitress asked while clearing away their plates.

"Yes!" Steve perked up as though he wasn't swearing off all food moments before. 

"Coffee," Tony decided. It was close to eleven and he actually felt tired, which was terrible news if he wanted to get any work done before conking out. 

"I couldn't possibly," Phil said.

Pepper made a sad face and took his hand. "But it's your birthday!" 

Phil regarded her calmly for a moment while her pout crept out further and further. A silent, fierce struggle waged between her quivering lip and his steely, Secret Agent gaze while Steve and Tony looked on, fascinated. Tony was proud.

"She learned this from me," he stage-whispered to Steve and stole another sip of his drink.

The moment dragged on another thirty seconds before Phil sighed, eyelids fluttering, and turned to the waitress.

"Do you have a dessert menu?"

***

"Seriously, though, why did you make me eat so much?" Tony groaned and clutched at the car door in agony.

Steve looked at him dubiously, his mouth a tight line that was more amused than annoyed. "As I recall," he said, his deep voice layered with sarcasm, "you were perfectly happy to eat everything that was put in front of you."

"There was peer pressure involved." 

"Aren't you the king of not doing what others expect of you?" Steve was definitely amused. The bastard.

"Cheap shot! That's not fair, I'm in a weakened state."

"Hey, Tony?" Steve's voice was softer, a little hesitant. Tony realized, the amount of wine and food he was currently incubating notwithstanding, that he should probably take things seriously for a minute, so he picked his head up off the headrest and met Steve's eye.

Steve half-smiled and let out a breath. "This getting along thing worked out pretty well tonight, wouldn't you say?" 

Well, Tony had absolutely no response prepared for that. He knew he probably looked surprised, but he hoped he didn't look unhappy, because as he was a little shocked to realize, he _liked_ the getting along thing. Kind of a lot.

"Um, yes. Yeah, we should probably keep it up. For the team's sake?" Hey, look, he brought out the magnanimity again.

"For the team," Steve agreed with an official nod.

How they ended up kissing ten minutes later was anyone's guess. They pulled up to Steve's building, which was over an art gallery in Red Hook, of _course_. Easy as you please, Tony leaned in to give a bro-hug, maybe a peck on the cheek because he was feeling a pleasant shade of affection-drunk. 

Only... Only Steve turned toward _him_ at the same time and then their mouths were bumping together and someone opened theirs, it might have been Tony about to apologize, but then lips parted and so Tony just did what came naturally after that and licked forward and it was slick and warm and Steve tasted like raspberry sorbet and he made a _noise_ and _kissed Tony back_. 

"Um." Tony pulled away after what was probably too long to play off casually and stared first into Steve's eyes, which were dilated and a little wild, and then frowned at his mouth like it was to blame for the situation. Which, frankly, it was. 

"That was... unexpected," Steve half-laughed. Tony thought it should be weird but it wasn't and Steve didn't even seem to be alarmed.

"Are you--" Tony stopped, realizing he wasn't sure what would be appropriate. Okay? About to have a hetero freak-out? Free for lunch Saturday?

Steve looked at him closely, like he was measuring Tony's own freak-out level. A gentle smile broke out and then the son of a bitch took a _picture_. 

"Stop that!" Tony slapped the phone down. He was going to take a ball-peen hammer to the thing before all was said and done.

"Listen." Steve clapped his hand on Tony's knee companionably. "Don't worry about this." He gave Tony's leg a gentle shake. The gesture was innocent, like a teammate. Not at all like someone who had just moments before been sucking on Tony's tongue. Tony realized he hadn't said a full sentence in a while.

"I'm not worried." But that was swiftly becoming an outright lie. He just made out with Captain Goddamn America. And liked it. _A lot_.

Steve gave him a look that clearly meant _Bullshit_ , but instead of calling him out, he just nodded and opened the car door. "Thanks for the ride, Happy!" he called to the front and stepped out.

"Oh," Steve said, ducking his torso back inside. Tony peered up at him warily. "We're still doing the friendly thing, right?"

"Of course." It was out of Tony's mouth before he even thought about it. Why was that happening so much around the guy?

Steve nodded again and closed the door.

_Jesus Christ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Author's Notes: In case anyone is wondering, a bottle of Glenlivet 1938 runs about $2,300 USD.  
> Ranunculus are a type of buttercup and look like [this](http://www.flickr.com/photos/25488115@N06/3468773411/).  
> I love my iPhone, but obviously Tony wouldn't.  
> I really have no one to blame but myself for turning Steve into a hipster. It's certainly not his fault -- he's a soldier out of time and nostalgia is in right now, okay?  
> AT LEAST HE ISN'T WEARING SCARVES. [In this chapter...]  
> [The Ginger Man](http://www.gingerman-ny.com/content/view/15/65/) and [Fig & Olive](http://www.figandolive.com/) are real places that I have never been to, but thanks to Jewel Staite's super-decadent [food blog](http://happyopu.net/fig-olive), I feel like I have at least personally nommed on F&O's crostini. I 100% made up the way everything tastes in this chapter, but don't you want to try that julep now? Me too, let's have one together, shall we?


	2. No Palookas Here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is after the grand-master belt of friendliness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this took longer than I was hoping, and I'm very sorry. I wanted it to be done like, half way through the chapter, but then Tony had to go and have some Feels and he screwed up my whole plan. WAY TO GO, TONY. Warnings: Excessive use of italics. Blame Hipster!Steve. 
> 
> Beta by the glorious Shannon. Agelade helped, too.

Right, so. That happened. Tony watched Steve waving from the doorway of his building and felt a bit out of sorts. It was a nice kiss -- a _great_ kiss -- but now that Steve wasn't sitting next to him and invading his space and smelling amazing, an irritated itch crawled up the back of Tony's neck. Because Steve was so damn...Steve. So frigging in control of himself _all the time_.

Happy rolled down the partition. "Home, Boss?"

"Yeah..." he hesitated, looking up at Steve's building and watching lights come on in the third-floor apartment. "Yeah, I'm just a little --" Tony wiggled his shoulders and settled back into the seat. He caught Happy's eyes in the rearview, crinkling around the edges. "Oh my god, are you laughing at me?"

"I would never, sir," Happy chuckled.

"I am surrounded by traitors."

Happy's snicker turned into an honest-to-god laughing fit, and he pulled away from the curb.

***

By the time Tony made it back to the tower, he had worked himself to a full-on tizzy. It was completely unfair that he was the one freaking out and Steve -- Steve from the 1940s! -- just laughed and acted like it was no big deal and they could still be friendly. Friends, even. 

Accidental kissing was a big deal, okay? 

At least Tony assumed it was. Wasn't it? Didn't they used to hate each other a little? Getting along for an evening was one thing. But four hours earlier, and several times before that, Tony had wanted to grab Steve by the shoulders and shake the righteousness out of him. He kind of had the urge right then, truth be told.

And as much as everyone wanted them to stop circling each other and hissing -- and Pepper said as much on a weekly basis -- Tony knew that no one was expecting them to be bosom friends, either. 

But Tony never did anything by _halves_. What was the point of that? He was on one side of the line or the other, and when it came down to it, even Steve wasn't going to get him to meet in the middle. If Tony was serious about this, and he felt pretty serious at that moment, then he was going to blow the line away in a blaze of glory and friendliness the likes of which Steve had never seen.

He was Tony Fucking Stark.

***

Tony rode the elevator in pensive silence, barely managing a greeting for JARVIS. He got the full report anyway. The debug had gone smoothly, and the new suit was ready for a spit-shine and a test run. Tony had meant to take it for a spin when he got home. But when the doors opened up on the penthouse living room, he just wanted to flop and brood. It was after midnight, so there shouldn't be anyone hanging around. Bruce lived here, and Thor had a room whenever he was in town. Clint and Natasha sometimes popped up, but Tony was pretty sure neither of them had actually moved in. Even still, he considered the upper lounge area common space, since it had a really nice monitor bank and a custom Stark Innovations game system.

And a whole mess of booze, which drew Tony across the room to the bar. The corners of his mouth still tasted like raspberries, and he was ready to wash the taste away with a swig of something brown and maybe flammable. His eyes briefly lit on a bottle of Chambord and he groaned in annoyance and threw a dish towel over it. Stupid Steve and his stupid delicious mouth.

He turned away from the bar and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Then he stopped, considering things, and grabbed a second, slipping them into his jacket pockets and heading back to the elevator.

See, sometimes, Tony just wanted to poke a sleeping bear. Having firmly established that he was prone to making bad choices, Tony felt that it was only building on his reputation to follow through on a few of them every once in a while. He started small.

***

"Yo, Banner," Tony hollered from the doorway. When Bruce didn't look up, Tony crossed the room and stood on the other side of Bruce's work station, doing a snap-slap with his fingers and the palm of his left hand. Bruce was intently studying a fleet of screens with a pencil in his mouth and a notepad -- who even still used paper? -- in his lap, not registering Tony's arrival. 

Tony opened his arms wide and snapped his hands together, minimizing the screens Bruce was studying. Bruce looked at Tony and blinked, letting the pencil fall from his lips.

"Pay attention to me," Tony gestured at his face with a loose circle of fingers.

"Hi," Bruce said, his mouth biting down on a sideways grin. "Something on your mind?"

No. It was stupid, and Tony was being a child. But he seemed to be committing to the bad choices decision, so he nodded and pulled the beers out of his pocket, handing one over.

Bruce took his and sat patiently until it was clear Tony wasn't going to elaborate. "Are you -- "

"Red paneer?" Tony blurted out. Jesus, where did his filter go? He used to have a rock solid brain-to-mouth filter, he was a goddamn business man. Sure, he didn't often make use of it, but it used to be there.

"Red... oh!" Bruce set the pencil on the desktop and gestured at Tony. "Did you like it?" 

What? "I never got to _try_ it, did I?" 

At that, Bruce made a dismayed sound and stood. "I put it in the fridge for you like, last week! I do it all the time!"

"What fridge? We have a fridge down here?" Tony spun around the room to look at the kitchenette. Sure enough, behind the glass doors he could see a stainless-steel miniature refrigerator, right next to a sink and two-burner stove. "For food?"

"What did you think it was for?"

Tony shrugged. "Bottles?"

Bruce tsk-ed and frog-marched them into the kitchenette. Inside the fridge, next to the bottles of smoothie and beer -- which were the whole reason Tony ever got fridges _installed_ \-- was a large disposable tupperware filled with rice and red goop, labeled with Tony's name and the previous week's date in Bruce's neat sharpie writing. 

Tony took it in with his lips pursed and then whirled around on his heel. "Hot damn."

"How did you live past twenty-five?" Bruce asked and closed the fridge.

"I had, you know, people."

Bruce shook his head in a long-suffering and, to Tony, highly unappreciated manner. They walked back into the lab proper.

"Did you make that at Steve's?" Tony thought he did a remarkable job of keeping the suspicion out of his voice. But even if he failed, Bruce was probably pretty used to Tony's Moods and didn't even acknowledge it.

"Yeah," Bruce said, taking a long gulp of his beer. "I've been showing him how to cook on the cheap." 

That grabbed Tony's attention. "Does he need money? Do you need money?!" Tony could do financial assistance. Tony was great at financial assistance. Steve's new Ralph Lauren habit must have been catching up to his SHIELD allowance. Okay, so, Steve probably didn't need to actually _pay_ for clothes anymore, seeing as Ralph Lauren would kill to dress a genuine 40s icon. Tony knew the guy personally, he would do it. 

Maybe it was gambling.

"What? No, we're good." Bruce was looking at Tony like he was wearing a suit made out of bees. "Anyway, I always make too much and Steve thought you'd like some, so..." He trailed off and waved at the fridge.

"Okay, that's..." Adorable. "...thoughtful of him. That's -- why are you cooking at his house? There are like, forty kitchens in the tower." So, he didn't do a good job at all with the tonal control there, judging by the eyebrow that climbed Bruce's forehead.

"How would you know? You didn't even know we had a refrigerator _in my lab_."

"You didn't tell me!"

"I didn't know you didn't know -- I thought you had been eating them."

Tony cocked his head, puzzled. "Uh-uh, I had no idea it was here."

"Well, I wasn't eating it, I had plenty at home."

They stood and made bewildered looks at each other.

"That's weird," Tony said.

***

The next morning, Tony was an hour into the board meeting that he absolutely did not see any reason he should be attending, when he decided to send Steve a text message. It was simple, innocent, and not at all going to set the tone of his weekend. He was a mature, responsible adult, after all. Well, he was an adult.

He went through a few versions before committing. What it almost said at various points, was: _Hey, let's go to LA and have a lot of sex and stuff._ which was promptly deleted in favor of _Hey, go to LA with me tomorrow. It's not a date unless you want it to be a date in which case it can totally be a date._ which was also too twelve, so he tried _You, me, LA, tuxedos, then maybe no tuxedos._ It swiftly became apparent to Tony that he was unable to carry on a conversation without attempting to charm someone's pants off -- literally and figuratively. He might have sent the last one, because, let's be real, flirting was awesome, but Tony planned to be the goddamn champion of friends. He had to get his head in the game.

So in the end, he went with: _\-- Hey, wanna go to LA tonight for some charity thing this weekend?_

Three minutes went by before Steve responded with: _\-- Sure, what do I need to bring?_

Well, that left the door wide open to all sorts of snarky responses, but Tony was in it to win it, so he kept his reply respectful. 

_\-- Do you own a suit that isn't severely patriotic?_

Okay, mostly respectful.

Steve took his time responding -- like a whole five minutes -- which was agony. Tony pretended to listen to the oldest man in the world drone on about stock options while he checked his e-mail six times and imagined Steve out in the world. Probably he was sitting at some cafe, drinking a cappuccino and taking pictures of the mug for his Facebook. He probably used captions like "Lovely morning with my book and my coffee at Stumptown." God, what a hipster.

Finally, Tony's phone buzzed. _\-- I think I can manage something acceptable. What time do we leave?_

_\-- Whenever, it's my plane. 7?_

He pondered for a moment and then sent another. _\-- And don't get me wrong, the tights are working for you._

Steve was more immediate with his next response: _\-- Oh, sure, they're just not exactly formal wear. Pick you up at six, then._

Tony giggled and then turned it into a cough when everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him. "Uhh --" he said, holding up his phone, "there was a cat in a sombrero. Carry on."

His phone buzzed again, only this time it was from Pepper. _\-- Stop texting Steve and pay attention, Tony._

Jesus. He looked around for hidden cameras in the plants. _\-- You are interrupting a very important board meeting, Ms Potts. How do you know I was texting Steve?_

_\-- Mandy texted me a picture of you grinning at your phone like a doofus._

Tony whipped around and glared at Pepper's secretary who was seated five chairs away, her chin resting innocently on her fist. He scowled at her, but she only raised her eyebrow in response and tapped the cell phone resting on the table before her with a finely manicured nail.

_\-- There could have been lolcats._

_\-- You should be listening to Jerry._

_\-- You wanted me to be friends with Steve! It's Avengers business!_

_\-- Oh my god, you are unbelievable._

Tony smiled to himself and tucked his phone into his pocket. 

The Oldest Man in the World [tm] droned on for another hour before he finished speaking and before anyone else could start presenting, Tony raised his hand.

"Alright, are we all good now? Because, and not that it wasn't a _thrilling_ report, Jerry, but I am going to -- " He sidled toward the door. "Good meeting guys, go team!" Then he was out of the room and jogging down the hallway to his elevator as fast as he could get away with in Stefano Bemer wingtips.

His phone started ringing, and he answered it, already knowing it was Pepper.

"Tony Stark speaking."

"Tony, get back in there."

"Pepper, is that you?"

"Tony."

"I'm sorry, Pepper, the meeting's over. I thought _Mandy_ might have told you. I got everything out of it I could possibly get, and more. So, I adjourned."

"I know you adjourned, Tony, you _adjourned_ right out of the conference room."

"The meeting was over, Pepper, what was I supposed to do!"

"Tony, you can't end someone else's meet --"

"Of course I can, I own the controlling interest. That means when my interest is gone, I control when the meeting ends. Aren't you supposed to be having amazing birthday sex with Phil right now?" 

"He's getting us coffee. And I'm telling Steve you have crabs."

"That was one time like, six years ago, and I can't believe you would even bring that -- "

"I'm the one who had to go to the doctor _for_ you and answer some very uncomfortable questions about your -- "

"KERRRRCHHH -- Oh, Pepper, you're -- KREEECHHHH -- cutting out, I'll call you later."

"Goddamnit, To --" 

Tony ended the call, grimacing at the phone. That went better than he was expecting, actually.

Then he glanced at his watch. It was lunchtime, and he had skipped breakfast, which wasn't unusual, but his morning's social mischief left him with a bit of an appetite. 

He looked at his phone again, and made a decision, gingerly pressing the glass as though the whole thing would explode once his text went through. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility. 

_\-- Are you still mad at me?_

_\-- Yes._

_\-- Can you be mad at me over sushi?_

Pepper took her time responding. She knew that it drove Tony crazy, so she probably just sat there for thirty seconds out of spite. 

_\-- Fine, but we're going to Yasuda and you're not allowed to say it's boring._

_\-- Pepper, they don't have any decorations._

_\-- Take it or leave it, Mr. Stark._

_\-- They don't even have a shrine!_

No response. Tony scrubbed at his face. God, that place was so dour. The sushi was amazing, though, and he really was getting super hungry. Maybe it was guilt hunger. Was there even such a thing? Pepper would know.

He really needed to stop owing Pepper around mealtimes. Or maybe get more friends. Or maybe keep more friends.

_\-- Fine. See you there in 30._

***

He was glad, of course, that they went to Yasuda. The food was always sensational, and Pepper loved it, so she was already in a better mood when they sat down. She even deigned to clink sake cups with Tony. However, she wouldn't answer any questions about her friendship with Steve, which was _incredibly frustrating_.

"How am I supposed to not be an ass to him if you won't tell me anything about him?" Tony insisted.

"You already know a lot about him," Pepper said reasonably.

"You're friend-blocking me, Pepper. You shouldn't friend-block your bros." 

She just quirked her eyebrow at him and crunched her teeth on a piece of pickled ginger.

"I want the dirt," Tony insisted, waving his chopsticks around before stealing a piece of Pepper's seki-saba. Because asking Pepper flat out if Steve had said anything about him like they were in junior high was just handing her a loaded gun full of emotions and standing back with his arms spread out. "Does he read porn? Does he _watch_ porn? Has he made out with any strippers? Has he ever seen a stripper? Does he want to?"

"There is no dirt," she said, making a disgusted face from the porn comment. "And, first of all, how are those your friend questions?"

"They're perfectly valid, bro-type quest --" 

"Don't be gross. He's just a good man, and too --" 

"Innocent for me? Because I'm feeling up to that particular challenge, actually." 

"Virtuous," she continued, "and has actual thoughts in his head on top of being, like, crazy handsome --"

"That's not a subtle reference to that couple from the conference last month, is it? Because I'm pretty sure the woman had at least two PHDs."

"Those were double-d's, Tony, and you can't even remember --" 

"Are you maligning my character right now? I'm feeling maligned." 

She was getting that dangerous look again, and maybe Tony _had_ handed her that loaded gun, or maybe she just had her own. "I think you're a bit out of your depth, is all."

Tony looked at her suspiciously, still waiting for the blow. When none came, he sat back in his seat and fiddled with his tiny empty cup -- seriously what did a guy have to do to get a regular sized glass -- tapping it against the table-top until Pepper jabbed him arm with her chopstick. He let it roll away. "Does that mean -- Are you saying I have carte-blanche here? Because I thought I was still in the doghouse."

"Oh, you're still in the doghouse," she assured him, taking a sip of her sake. "I'm saying that it's probably not up to _you_."

Nonsense. Tony could make anything happen if he really wanted it. And he'd already decided, like four hours before, that what he _really wanted_ was to prove everyone in the goddamn Avengers Initiative gloriously, inescapably wrong. 

In a friendly way, of course. 

***

At exactly 5:55pm, the elevator dinged and JARVIS announced Steve's arrival. Tony whirled around in his desk chair, smoothie in hand for covert eyeballing. Over the rim of his glass, he watched Steve step out carrying a suit bag slung over his left shoulder and a motorcycle helmet clipped in the crook of his elbow. Tony swallowed with a satisfied sigh.

"Wow, you're..." he paused and looked Steve up and down pointedly, "...punctual." Steve was wearing a brown leather jacket, a deep green plaid shirt, and jeans. 

He shifted his feet -- in a pair of battered Frye boots, although Tony had expected _TOMS_ \-- under Tony's scrutiny, but didn't say anything, tucking the corner of his mouth up in a wry smile. Very deliberately, he brought his free hand up and looked at his watch, then looped a pair of aviator glasses over the collar of his shirt. "Are you ready?"

Tony sauntered across the room and tapped the helmet swinging on Steve's arm. "We going for a ride?" Yeah, he was supposed to be keeping it mild, but when it came right down to it, Tony wasn't very good at dialing back. 

And Steve took a slow, deep breath then, like maybe he needed a second to decide something, and his smile split wider. 

Ten minutes later they were tearing across the Queensboro bridge because, much to Tony's surprise and delight, Steve was a madman on his motorcycle. Friday rush hour traffic be damned, Tony molded himself to Steve's back and clung on for dear life while they dodged and weaved their way through the sea of cars. Tony let loose a breathless, high-pitched giggle and flexed his fingers against Steve's stomach. Steve pumped his feet and twisted his wrist and the bike roared faster.

Tony was in T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

***

Once they arrived at the airfield, safe and windblown and grinning like a pair of idiots, Tony felt a bit more sanguine with the situation. They were already getting along, and Tony wasn't even trying very hard. 

Steve's eyebrows shot up when he took in Tony's plane on the tarmac, like maybe he thought Tony was joking before. But shit, Tony had like, three jets in the US alone, and that one wasn't even the flashiest. Pepper suggested the one that she normally used, thinking the sensibility of it would be more Steve's speed. She was probably right, as usual. But it was still pretty impressive, if he did say so himself.

"The last Stark Industries plane I was in I had to parachute out. Under fire." Steve said, combing his hair back into place with his fingers. Tony grimaced. Oops.

"Turned out alright," Steve continued thoughtfully, "although I'd rather not repeat the event."

"Well it's us, so don't rule it out," Tony said, shrugging. Steve looked at him, eyes wide and startled, and then laughed.

Happy greeted them at the base of the stairs.

"Hasn't Pepper release you from my service already?" Tony asked good-naturedly, and handed his helmet over.

"Just gonna see you off, sir." Happy turned to Steve and held out his hand. "I'll take your bike back to the garage at Stark Tower, Captain."

Steve's mouth dropped open in dismay. "Oh, I didn't think of that. I can park it over there somewhere, you don't have --" he started to protest, but Happy shook his head emphatically.

"Really, Captain, you'd be doing me a favor letting me take her out for a spin."

Steve broke out into a doofy grin. "She's pretty sweet, yeah?" He patted the fender fondly and then tossed Happy the keys. "Alright, thank you."

Tony watched the exchange with a funny taste in his mouth. Christ, was Steve friends with _Happy_ , too?

***

They ran out of small talk eventually, and somewhere over the Dakotas, Steve fell asleep while reading a book. Tony reached over and plucked it off of Steve's chest to get a better look at the cover. Steve snuffled in his sleep, and Tony froze, stretched over the table between them, but Steve didn't open his eyes.

A Really Short History of Nearly Everything, by Bill Bryson. Tony snorted and plopped it on the table. His hand hovered in the air for the tiniest moment while Tony checked again that Steve was still asleep, regretting the noise. Steve was a pretty light sleeper, but could drop off anywhere he was sitting for more than five minutes, which seemed like a total waste of consciousness to Tony. He figured it was probably a holdover from the war, though -- soldiers were conditioned to grab rest whenever and wherever they could.

But Steve's eyes stayed closed, and he let out a deep sigh, settling harder into his seat. So, Tony snapped up Steve's phone from the tabletop and started browsing through it. Steve had no less than seventy games downloaded, most of them puzzles and RPGs. Inside the folder marked "Photography" there were nine apps, including both Instagram _and_ Hipstamatic. Of _course_. Tony pulled up the pictures folder and started browsing through. The most recent one was clouds through the plane window. Further up were some from earlier that morning, and yes, there was a picture of Steve's coffee cup. Six of them, from various angles. Tony smirked.

But then after, there was a cluster of pictures of Pepper in a floaty pink top seated next to Phil, who was wearing a denim button-down, holding their own coffee mugs and grinning at the camera. They had obviously joined Steve for breakfast. Pepper had probably been sitting _across from Steve_ while texting with Tony in the meeting, and she hadn't even said anything at lunch.

Irritation swarmed up the sides of his neck and face. He scrolled furiously through the rest of the pictures, judging and dismissing them as quickly as they flashed on the screen. Coffee, coffee, coffee, pile of spilled sugar, close-up of a sketch of a bird. _Obviously_. 

He stopped on one of Pepper and Phil with their heads close together, the sun bleaching out the upper left corner of the photo. Tony could see Phil's hand, tugging on a strand of Pepper's hair while she laughed into the side of his face.

Tony had been missing some important things, he realized with a sad pull on his heart. Sure, he knew Pepper was happy with Phil, in an abstract way. They never talked about it, beyond innuendo on Tony's part, and smug satisfaction on Pepper's. But pictures were evidence, were validation, and that's how Tony understood the world. 

He suddenly wasn't mad any more about being left out, which was ...something to examine at another time. They just looked so pleased to be with each other. He decided, with a strange hushing melancholy, that he should probably make Pepper's life a little easier, because relaxed suited her really well. Phil too, for that matter.

Steve stirred and shifted in his seat. "What are you doing?" he asked around a yawn.

Tony scratched his nose and shrugged. "Snooping." He spared Steve a glance, taking in his sleep-flushed face and the hair sticking up on the back of his head. 

"Oh, okay." Steve closed his eyes settled back into the chair, crossing his arms. His collar was unbuttoned and unfurled on the left side, showing off the column of his neck. Tony frowned and looked back at the phone. 

***

They arrived at the Stark airfield a little after ten PM. According to Jarvis, the weather for the weekend was expected to be lovely, if a bit hot, with a projected high of close to a hundred degrees. 

Steve stood in the aisle and stretched enormously while the plane taxied to a stop. Tony busied himself with his phone, waiting for the airstairs to be attached, and watched Steve out of the corner of his eye. 

After cracking his neck and tugging both arms over his head, Steve folded over at the waist and hugged his knees, pressing his face in tight against his thighs. Tony's swallowed and forced himself to look away from the unexpected display of bendiness. He'd seen it before, obviously, and it was nothing compared to the sight of Natasha scaling Steve like a tree in the training room, but it was still... off-putting. In his plane. In the aisle, right next to his seat. Steve stood up with a controlled, fluid movement.

Goddamnit, Steve.

***

Tony's crisp, sleek Audi waited for them at the end of a red carpet, glinting in the lights of the air traffic control tower. He danced up to the side and breathed a deep, happy sigh.

"Hello baby," he crooned, dragging his hand from the top of the windshield, down to the side mirror, and along the top the door. He loved his car more than he loved most people.

"Do you two want to be alone for a minute?" Steve asked.

Tony grinned unabashedly and clicked the keyfob, popping the trunk. "Top up or down?"

"Are you kidding?" the response was muffled while Steve ducked to put his bag inside. He straightened and closed the back with a muted click. "Down."

They climbed in and Tony took a moment to pump the clutch and wiggle the gear shift lovingly. 

"Ready?" he asked, watching Steve buckle his seatbelt. 

Steve shifted and settled himself more comfortably in his seat, before nodding. "Punch it."

Being friends with Steve was _awesome_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chambord, if you're not familiar, is a raspberry liqueur that I don't like because it reminds me too much of blood. So, you're welcome for that image.  
> Once again, I have not been to Yasuda, and I am relying heavily on The Internet for recommendations on eateries in NYC. If I ever got the boys to Baltimore, then y'all would get some insider knowledge. Alas.  
> Steve doesn't wear a motorcycle helmet, much to my dismay. I debated on making him wear one here, but it's movie canon that he doesn't, and while I know that this is fanfic and I can Do What I Want, I also like the image of Tony in a helmet plastered against helmet-less Steve's back. What. You wouldn't be here if that didn't tickle you, too.


End file.
